Raping Helena

It did not even sound like me. It was the voice of a lust-filled madman. I watched the delightful sway of her ass as she crawled toward the bed, relishing her subjugation and surrender as much as anything sexual I had ever done. As she crawled onto the bed, I pinned her with a harsh hand on the back of her neck holding her against the mattress. My free hand dropped between her legs to pull at the dark tuft, caress the curve of her ass, as she lay, half-on, half-off, the bed with one knee and an extended foot supporting her weight.

When I released her, she moved again to lie in the center. I watched as she lay face down, then, rolled over to look at me, her lower body still twisted, vainly seeking protection from that which was to follow.

As I knee walked beside her, her fists clenched as her arms came in front of her chest. Her hips turned, bringing her legs up in a defensive fetal position, and those eyes never left mine. I swatted her again, leaving the print of a palm and fingers in red on the white of her thigh. Her eyes were cowed now. Slowly, her hands and legs moved, fists still clenched as they slowly fell to lay by her head, legs straight out on the bed, together and locked.

"Open your legs so I can fuck you!"

One shake of her head saying 'no'.

I jammed my hard knee between her thighs, relishing the thrill of driving them apart by brute strength, shifting my weight so my full two hundred pounds were on the fulcrum. She was strong, determined to resist to the end. I could feel the muscles in her thighs quiver and strain as they fought to keep me from between them.

I saw a drop of red on her hand where a nail had spilt her own flesh in a clench of emotional intensity. The sight of the blood exploded a memory from the recesses of my subconscious.

I was thirteen, with my father and uncle in the heavy brush of far south Texas on a deer hunt. I had shot my first deer, hitting a doe in the shoulder with a flat shot from about eighty yards. Ignoring my father's yells to be careful with a loaded rifle, I ran toward the deer, who was mortally wounded but struggling to flee. I was panting, gasping, as I stood beside her. She was breathing rapidly and raggedly, her struggling almost over, as she lay dying at my feet.

"You can't let her suffer, son," Dad said, his hand firm on my shoulder. "We need to put her out of her misery." He told me how to do it and gave me his hunting knife.

In one swift, brutal stroke, I drove the blade of his hunting knife into the doe's throat, severing the cartoroid artery. Blood flowed from her neck as the light in her eyes flickered and died. The doe shuddered violently, releasing air from her wounded lungs in the rattle of death.

It was those eyes . . . of the doe in the last seconds of her life, just before the uncomprehendable and overpowering knowledge of imminent death vanished with life itself . . . I saw in Helena's face at that moment. I felt her resistance end and the muscles in her legs relax.

A hand on each knee, I pulled her legs up and apart, bending and spreading them, opening her, rolling her hips up to give me the angle I desired. Her fists relaxed, revealing the hole in her palm, the blood oozing to form a red slash in mute acknowledgment of her sacrifice.

Bending her double, I lodged the tip of my cock between the lips of her pussy. In that instant in which I was poised at her gates, I felt her love juices thick around my cock head and the bloated fullness of her lower lips. Yet, from the corner of my eye, I saw the blood in her hand where her nail had penetrated her skin. I seized a wrist in each hand, trapping her hands by her head, shifting my weight to power my cock into her using my hands on her trapped wrists for balance.

I saw her doe eyes flicker and change as I drove my cock into her in one, swift, brutal stroke.

Time stood still as I froze, like a statue, my cock buried in her, my eyes burning into hers. I could feel her cervix against my cock head. I could feel her heat and slickness around my shaft, a spasm of her pussy walls around me. I could feel the inside of her thighs from my rib cage to my crotch, and the front of her calves under my arms. I could hear her ragged breathing, see the labored rise and fall of her breasts. I could smell her heat, her fear, her desire.

I could see her eyes: her soft, woman's eyes.

Helena shuddered violently, releasing air in a hushed but unmistakable murmur.

"Please. Don't stop."